


Scenes from a Public School's History Department

by fakeditfromthewordgo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, worst jokes in the history of bad jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fakeditfromthewordgo/pseuds/fakeditfromthewordgo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam didn't expect anything of the new guy, and that was the root of the problem, really. Or, Gabriel the teacher finds better uses for his talents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scenes from a Public School's History Department

Sam was halfway through marking a stack of papers when Jo poked her head around his door. “Hey, Sam, new guy’s here. You wanna show him the ropes or should--”

“I will,” Sam cut in quickly, capping his pen and standing in the same instant. As much as he loved Jo Harvelle, his fellow colleague, he was very particular about how things worked in his department, and he just knew she’d skip over the important things, like which corners to fold on different groups of documents that needed to be kept together at all costs, and his extremely complicated alphabetised, chronological, ability-based filing system. Sure, the guy was only going to be there for a maximum of two weeks, but these things were _important_.

The school’s history department, made up of three teachers, but since it was a popular choice among students, they were all needed. Last week, Garth, Sam’s other colleague, had cracked nearly all of his ribs in an incident that Sam hadn’t asked for further information about, and so was taking the next couple of weeks off. Despite his insisting to the head that Jo and him could handle it, they’d both been feeling the strain, and though Garth had an annual tradition of completely blowing their budget, Sam had found they just about had enough to cover a supply teacher. Just for a couple of weeks, he’d reasoned. 

Instead of taking offence at his instant response, Jo just smiled, rolling her eyes. “Play nice. He’s pretty cute.” 

Sam didn’t even dignify that with an answer, just standing in front of her pointedly, until she laughed, and left, leaving the doorway free for him to follow. Outside, a guy with longish dark hair sat picking at the plastic coating the legs of one of the chairs Sam kept out there for kids on detention. When he heard the door close, he looked up, and beamed at Sam, who found himself smiling back involuntarily. Jo nodded at the guy as she headed off to her own classroom, and he leapt to his feet (Sam noted it didn’t really make much difference in the distance between his head and the ceiling), extending a hand towards Sam. 

“Gabriel Milton,” he said in a cheery, upbeat voice. “Nice to meet you.”

Taking his hand, Sam gave a firm shake. “Sam Winchester, and yourself. Shall we go into my room to discuss, uh, how things work around here?” Despite being head of History at the school for a good eight years or so now, and therefore in charge of dealing with new employees, Sam had never quite got the grasp of the whole ‘introduction’ thing. Jo had never let him forget when she started - ‘Do you want to step into my office, so we can, um, talk about routine and stuff?’. No matter how much he cursed his awkward lack of eloquence, however, it seemed to get worse every time, much to his annoyance and Jo’s amusement. 

Sure enough, the guy gave him a kind of weird look, but his eyes were laughing at he ducked his head, gesturing for Sam to go ahead. “Sure thing, kiddo.” 

“Kiddo?” Sam repeated, as he ducked under the door frame and into his cushioned chair.

Gabriel followed suit, taking his seat on the opposite side of the cheap wooden desk. “Oh. Habit. Sorry, ki--sir?” The word sounded foreign in his mouth, like his tongue wasn’t used to forming it, and Sam couldn’t help but smile. 

“Don’t,” he said, holding a hand up. “Just Sam’s fine, trust me.”

Gabriel nodded easily, looking more at ease instantly. “Okay, Just Sam.” He waved a hand with effortless grace. “Go on, I think I’m ready to hear your doubtless endless list of rules.”

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. _Doubtless endless list of rules..?_

“I, um,” he flustered, turning bright red. “Right... well.” He came to a full stop, his entire train of thought having been thrown off by this short guy with the nerve to question the way he ran things. The short guy in question had raised his eyebrows, looking like he wasn’t sure if he felt guilty, or whether he found the whole thing incredibly entertaining; his expression landed somewhere in between, brows slanted, but eyes dancing. “I’m not that bad, um, like you said.” Sam paused, replaying his sentence in his head, and cursing himself for the pathetic phrasing. 

After a few more ‘um’s and ‘uh’s, Sam managed to second-guess himself through a brief explanation of their way of dealing with the kids, what Gabriel was expected to cover, and the basics of the filing system. When Gabriel failed to understand it after repeating several times (deliberately, Sam guessed - the guy looked far too intelligent for his own good), Sam sighed, and told him to just leave things on his desk. 

“Thanks, I think,” Gabriel said when he finally gave up. He stood, and gave him an enthusiastic salute. “When I get it all wrong, I’ll be back.” Sam shook his head with a smile, and Gabriel winked. “‘Sides, you’re cute when you’re flustered, Just Sam.” He walked out without another word, and Sam’s eyebrows hit his hairline. 

* * *

 The next morning, Sam got in early (as always), shivering slightly, his clothes covered in flakes of frost from the light snowfall outside - it was a cold November - to find a styrofoam Starbucks awaiting him on his desk, with a note. Frowning, he first picked up the still-warm coffee, then turned to the note. 

_Forget to get your number to ask for your order, but hope this works. Grading those papers you set aside - Gabriel._

Setting the note aside, Sam took a cautious sip, and found Gabriel had bought him a caramel latte; a little sweet for his tastes, but palatable nonetheless. Slowly, he lowered himself into his chair, slightly worried something was going to explode. After his enthusiasm yesterday, Sam still hadn’t quite figured the shorter man out, and he’d put the whole flirting debacle at the end as far out of his mind as he possibly could. 

Sam didn’t do relationships. Sam didn’t even do _liking_ people, as a thing. It just didn’t happen. He’d entertained the idea that he was simply far too picky a few years ago, and forced himself to go out with a guy, whose company he enjoyed, but felt absolutely no attraction towards whatsoever. The date had been a complete disaster, and he hadn’t been another since. His brother Dean, with his eight month boyfriend Castiel, was always telling him to go out and at least ‘clean the pipes’, and no matter how many disapproving looks Cas sent over the table, never ceased to be disgusting. 

“You’re such a girl,” he’d mutter, whenever Sam informed him that he was waiting for the right person to come along. “Samantha, that’s what we should we call you.” 

Sam continued to muse on his lack of relationships for no real reason other than that Gabriel had taken his morning’s work off his hands, and he had nothing better to do. He was in a surprisingly good mood when his first class came in, and the girls that always giggled and nudged each other when he smiled seemed to be in a fit of hysterics and fist fighting. 

When he was halfway through his lesson on the lifestyle of the Plains Indians, there was a knock, and a kid from another class asked for some textbooks on Miss Harvelle’s behalf. This was perfectly normal, but the noise coming from next door was not, and Sam’s sunny mood started to cloud over. 

Setting his class some mundane questions, he took a deep breath, and headed into Gabriel’s classroom. Inside, he found absolute chaos: children were running around shouting, paying no attention to anything, while Gabriel sat idly folding paper planes. 

“Sa--Mr Winchester,” he shouted gleefully when he caught sight of him. “‘Sup?” 

Sam was speechless. He gaped for another moment, before pulling himself together, and putting his patented bitch face on. “Mr Milton, what is going here?”

“Well--“ A boy screamed, cutting him off, and Gabriel pointed at him. “Hey, you. Sit down, and shut up, you great big bag of dicks. Time out.” He didn’t lower his hand, or soften his glare, until the boy sat down sullenly. Then he turned back to Sam, grin in place. “What was I saying? We finished our lesson, so I gave them free time.” He shrugged. “It’s free. S’long as no one gets hurt, we’re good.”

“Mr Milton,” Sam’s voice was strained, “we’re only halfway through first period.”

Instead of replying, Gabriel snapped his fingers, and every child was instantly silent, eyes on him. “Becca,” he pointed at a blonde girl who had frozen in the act of sticking paper in her friend’s hair. “Second government act.”

Sam smirked; the girl was a known trouble-maker. Gabriel had just _walked_ into this one.

She sighed loudly, making a show of rolling her eyes, and Gabriel clicked at her again exasperatedly. “1973. Timber and Culture act. 160 extra acres of land.” 

“Extra land if what, Jamie?”

“They plant a tree every 40 acres,” the screaming boy from before answered reluctantly, head on the desk. 

“You’re free to go, kiddo,” Gabriel said, and the kids, including Jamie, resumed their previous whirlwind of activity and noise. Gabriel shrugged when he saw Sam gaping. “We finished the lesson.” 

Sam stood, completely floored, for a moment longer, before regarding Gabriel with a whole new perspective. “Sorry.” Embarrassed, he ran a hand through his hair. “Gotta play the authority figure, you know?” 

“You know,” Gabriel said, folding a corner on his previously abandoned paper plane, “I think you’re the only person I’ve ever heard say ‘authority figure’ in a sentence. Out loud. In real life.” 

Before Sam could reply, there was a meek tapping on his back (no one could reach his shoulder) from a sweet kid from his class. “Um, sir, Erica just walked out again.” Sam sighed, willing himself to be patient, and gave the girl a smile. 

“Go back to class, I’ll deal with her.” She nodded and ran out, leaving Sam to deal with a smirking, thoroughly amused Gabriel. “Oh, shut up.” 

Gabriel held his hands up in mock surrender. “Saying nothing, _sir_.” 

Sam threw him a piercing glare, making his way out before Gabriel called him back, and there was an alarming crashing sound produced by the man’s desk. Sam winced, but Gabriel was as cheerful as ever as he presented him with the essays he’d taken from Sam’s desk that morning. Amazed, and just the tiny bit resentful, Sam thanked him, and closed the door with a little bit of extra force. 

* * *

 “So,” Jo said conspiratorially as Sam sat on the corner of her desk the next day. “What’s the verdict on the new guy?” 

Sam grimaced. “Unorthodox teaching methods.”

“...but?” 

“Surprisingly effective.” Jo laughed at his grudging tone of voice, reaching out to pat his arm. 

“It’s okay, Sammy,” she said very slowly, as if talking to a particularly stupid child, “you’ve still got your precious filing system.”

He hit her arm away, rolling his eyes. “Does he get you coffee in the morning?”

“Gabe?” Jo sounded confused, and Sam didn’t miss how easily the nickname came. “No? Why?” Sam shook his head, pulling a face as if to say ‘nothing’, and all of a sudden, Jo’s smile grew unbearably smug. “ _Oh_.”

“No. No, no, no.” Sam jumped in instantly, already knowing what was coming next. “Jo. No.” 

She completely ignored him. “Gam. No, that sounds weird.” She cocked her head to the side, considering. “Samriel. _Sabriel_." Sam was pretty sure if it was possible for someone to high five themself, she would have. 

"I'm going." Sam said, not entertained by this at all. 

Laughing, Jo caught at his arm as he stood, pulling him back. "Chill, Sam, I'm joking." He just looked at her, and she gave him the puppy eyes. "He's probably just sucking up to you for a proper job." 

"Where's my coffee from you been, then?" 

"You should be giving _me_ coffee for staying around. You and Garth ruin my life on a daily basis."

"Oh, please. You can't file to save your life."

Jo lashed out at his shoulder, and Sam was reminded why he didn't argue with her - the girl was tough as nails, and strong with it. Still, that was definitely an affront to his authority, and he couldn't help but kick back at her.

The bell went as they'd resulted to slapping at each other, and Jo backed Sam out of the door by kicking at his shins. 

"Lunch, yeah?" She called after him. Sam shot her a thumbs-up over his shoulder, wondering if it was weird to consider someone you worked with one of your best friends.

* * *

 It soon became clear that children _loved_ Gabriel. Sam wasn't sure whether this was due to his completely ridiculous teaching methods (what was more ridiculous was the fact that they _worked_ \- his class' results in their end of unit tests had been exemplary), or his endless supply of candy and lollipops (the man's breath smelled like a sweet shop), but he knew for definite that it had nothing to do with his jokes.

By the end of the first week, Sam could honestly say that he'd never heard so many truly awful jokes in his life. It had gotten to the point where both Jo and himself knew when they were coming, but even when they tried to stop him ("Hey, guys--" "Gabriel, please, have mercy."), resistance was futile. Even the children couldn't escape. Sam often heard them coming out of class, laughing at something Gabriel had come out with.

It all started with Jonathan Ross. 

Gabriel had started eating with them at lunch, and though at first Sam hadn't really spoken to him, leaving the conversation to him and Jo, it soon became endless teasing and conversation between the men, with the occasional sarcastic interjection from Jo. His eyes should have given it away, really. 

"Hey, did you guys hear about Jonathan Ross?" Gabriel had asked, sounding so innocently interested in the answer. 

"No?" Sam had replied so stupidly, so naive. He didn't even really know who Jonathan Ross, besides him being a British TV show host, nor particularly cared, but Gabriel had made it seem so interesting. 

Gabriel blew out a big breath of air. "Seriously? He was arrested for stealing from a kitchen store the other night."

"Woah, what?" Jo perked up, looking shocked. 

Nodding emphatically, Gabriel's expression was sad. "Yeah. When they asked him, like, what was going on, he said he thought it was a whisk worth taking." It had a taken a second for them to catch on, but when they did, it was met with much groaning, facepalming, and general 'Oh, for God's sake Gabe.' 

Since then, they'd had no escape. 

During lesson time, he'd come in, faking some matter of urgent importance. "D'you have any paper?" 

Suspiciously, Sam would hand him whatever he wanted (usually blue-tac, or a pencil, or something equally unimportant), waiting for whatever was the real meaning of this little visit. He was never disappointed.

"You know those little Russian dolls?" 

"Really? Now?" Sam would always sigh, and tap his foot, but the kids giggled endlessly. If anything, Gabriel just broke up the monotomy of lessons, but Sam would never admit that. 

"I'm really starting to hate them." 

"Get out." 

"They're just so full of themselves." 

Sam pushed him out of the door as the children laughed, shutting the door behind it. "Quick, someone get a chair to keep him out." 

* * *

 He'd completely forgotten about the whole 'you're cute when you're flustered' thing, and chalked the daily morning coffee down to friendliness (no one really liked Jo, anyway), when the notes started to change. It was, of course, a joke. _So I thought I should tell you what people are saying behind your back... nice ass._ Sam immediately crushed the note in his large hands, and tossed it in the trash, but his cheeks were bright red, and it took him longer to mark than usual. 

To make matters worse, Jo had taken a sick day, leaving the pair of them alone at lunch. Whereas Sam felt awkward, and was kind of all over the place (he managed to quite literally fall into his seat, knocking his water over at the same time), Gabriel was completely at ease, feet up on Jo's empty seat, laughing at Sam's blustering.

"Hey, so," Gabriel said, once Sam managed to control himself. "I bought a ceiling fan the other day." 

Sam quirked an eyebrow, sipping at his drink. "Really?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Complete waste of money, though." 

"How so?"

"Just kept clapping and cheering at the ceiling," Gabriel complained, and though Sam could've slapped himself for falling for it, he couldn't help the laughter that came out.

After that, the conversation flowed easily; they exchanged views on the Great Gatsby, and the new film adaption (Gabriel was fiercely protective of Leonardo DiCaprio, and just couldn't understand why 'such a perfect man' didn't have an Oscar), debated the medical values of chocolate (none, Sam insisted, but Gabriel took that as a personal insult), and why Starbucks would always be the best place to grade papers, no arguments accepted. 

Both of them jumped a little bit when the bell rang, but Gabriel covered it with a jerky jump to his feet. "It's been good, giant." Rolling his eyes, Sam stretched his arm out to smack him round the head. 

"I can think of better times." 

Gabriel held a hand against a chest, as if wounded. "My heart lies in pieces at your cruel words."

"Please stop talking like you're in Game of Thrones," Sam pleaded, as they walked out side-by-side. 

"Does my lord have a problem?" Sam groaned, and Gabriel laughed, his eyes alight. 

When they reached their respective classrooms, Gabriel saluted in way of goodbye, signature lollipop stick poking out of the corner of his mouth, and Sam shook his head fondly. "You're exhausting. Stay out of my room."

"You wound me," he could hear Gabriel shouting as he shut his door, leaning back against it, smiling despite himself. The smile kept until he sat down at his desk, and just so happened to glance down at his bin, where the crumpled note rested on top. 

* * *

 "You seem happy, Sam," Castiel observed, smiling as Sam took a second helping of salad, and Dean gave him a pointed glare that definitely said, 'you are no brother of mine'. 

Sunday dinner with Dean and Cas happened every other week, and Sam would be lying if he said he didn't look forward to it. Though he used to spend every day with Dean, not only his big brother but his best friend, they now texted and called all the time. An old girlfriend had broken up with him because of their 'messed-up, codependent relationship', but neither of them would have it any other way. Not that they'd admit it to the other.

Sam shrugged, watching as Dean took a second burger. "Things are going well, I guess." Castiel looked at him, and his face might've been a question mark for how obviously he was waiting for an explanation. "Good results, and stuff." He helped himself to another slice of tomato, eyes on Dean, who subsequently grabbed another slice of cheese. 

"That's good," Castiel said complacently, looking confused as Sam reached out for a single slice of lettuce, and Dean followed this with a completely unneeded spurt of ketchup. 

"Yeah," Sam replied, narrowing his eyes at his brother, "it is." 

Dean's hard gaze became fiery, and the war was forgotten as he grinned evilly. "You're getting laid." 

"Dean," Sam said exasperatedly.

"You are!" 

"Dean." 

"Since when?"

"Dean."

"When do I get to intimdate the son of a bitch--" 

" _Dean_." Dean quietened immediately, and Sam rolled his eyes - of course he'd listen to Castiel. "I am going to leave you two to sort out your differences." He paused, giving them both a loaded look. "I will retrieve the cherry pie."

Dean punched the air. "I love you." Castiel reddened, giving him an awkward pat on the shoulder as he headed out of the room. 

"I don't like anyone," Sam said quickly, the words running into each other in their eagerness to leave his mouth. 

Dean raised his eyebrows, taking a swig of beer. "Sure you don't, Sammy."

"I _don't_ ," he insisted, sounded like a stubborn toddler. "I never like anyone. You know that. It's my thing." 

"Your thing." 

Hearing the implied quotation marks, Sam scowled. "We're just friends." 

"That's more like it!" Dean leaned forwards on his elbow. "Have you written your initials surrounded by hearts, yet? Bought him flowers?" Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean cut him off. "No, you're right, not your style. Chocolate?" 

Sam sighed deeply. "He's leaving in a week. It's not even anything." His words fell flat to his own ears. 

"Then the way I see it, you've got a week to get your butt in gear," Dean pulled a face at him that made it clear he thought it was entirely possible, and Cas chose this moment to walk back in, cherry pie in hand.

"Everything okay?" He asked cautiously, edging his way into the dining room like it was a battlefield. 

"Just peachy, Cas," Dean said with a smile reserved just for the blue-eyed man, and Cas nodded. 

It wasn't until they were well into their first pieces that Cas piped up again, head tilted to one side as he asked: "Why are you fruity, Dean?" 

 

On Monday, there was another note beside his latte, and the corners of Sam's mouth were tilted upwards before he even picked it up. This one, however, left something to be desired - _Did they ever catch the thief?_ Frowning, Sam turned the note over, looking around his desk to see if there was another message, but came up blank. He was loath to admit it, but he knew he was disappointed, and it'd been so long, it felt like a completely new emotion. 

He was in a pretty bad mood for the rest of the morning, and his classes definitely suffered. Jo came in at one point to ask for something, then backed away hands up when she saw his face. That was the only time any of the children laughed, and even he couldn't stop a smile from spreading across his face. 

During break, Gabriel came strolling over, stupid smirk in place, and Sam definitely didn't notice the spark in his warm amber eyes. "So?"

"So what?" Sam replied childishly, eyes fixed resolutely on his coffee. 

Gabriel sighed, nudging him. "Did they catch the thief?" 

Unamused, Sam's reply was short. "What thief?" 

"The one who stole the stars and put them in your eyes." 

There was a split second of complete silence, but then Sam laughed so hard tears formed. "Did you... _Google_ that?" He asked between gasps, still unable to stop laughing. "That's your worst yet." 

Gabriel, who had remained smiling throughout his whole fit, kicked at his shin. "But it's working."

"It's not," Sam replied with a smile. 

"I have papers to mark," Gabriel said, already heading back to his room, "but just you wait, Sammy." The door shut before Sam could tell him not to call him that, and he sighed, thoughts a complete mess.

Before he could put pen to paper, though, Jo's head popped round the door, looking absurdly pleased. "Was that flirting I heard, Sam Winchester?" 

"No, it was not, employee who I'm capable of firing," Sam returned pointedly. 

Jo just laughed. "I want to be bridesmaid." 

* * *

 "Mr Winchester's tie matches his eyes today," Becky sighed contentedly to her best friend Lisa, who nodded emphatically, scribbling hearts around the BR 4 SW she'd spent all of last lesson bubble writing on Becky's planner. "I think he can wear green at our wedding." 

Lisa nodded again, until she realised Becky was looking at her. She squinted at Mr Winchester, who was pointing something out on the board, pretending to picture it. "What colour will you wear?" Becky smiled, just as Lisa had known she would.

"White," she declared. "All brides wear white. Mr Winchester can have a white tie, to match." 

Having overheard, Chuck Shurley snorted. "Mr Winchester won't marry _you_."

Becky was instantly on the offensive, something Lisa knew was terrifying, from personal experience. "Oh, yeah? Why not?" 

"Because he's going to marry Mr Milton, stupid." 

Before Becky could reply, the man in question strolled in, and Mr Winchester sighed, but it wasn't hard to see his entire face had lit up. 

"Mr Milton," Sam said. "Before you ask for something I'm sure you don't need, perhaps you could tell us what happened in 1616?" 

Everyone in the class tittered except Becky, who folded her arms, scowling. Mr Milton shrugged. "Shakespeare died."

"Shakespeare..." Mr Winchester trailed off, apparently lost for words. "I'm not even going to... what do you want?" 

Mr Milton grinned. "Exercise books. Hey, kids, did you know my granddad has the heart of a lion?" A few of her classmates shook their head, including Lisa, who she elbowed sharply, and he nodded conversationally, ignoring Mr Winchester who was glaring at him. "Lifetime ban from the zoo, too." 

Shoving the books into his outstretched hand, Mr Winchester pushed the shorter man towards the door. "Leave my class in peace, please."  

" _See_?" Chuck hissed at Becky, looking smug. Glaring at him, she snatched her planner away from Lisa, ripping the heart into shreds.

"Mr Winchester has found another," she announced. "And though I am heartbroken, I must too." She looked around, eyes settling on Chuck, who immediately flushed bright red, and gulped, when she smiled ferally at him. Lisa thought she should apologise in advance.

* * *

 After his weekly Wednesday after school session with the older pupils, Sam found himself sitting in Gabriel's chair, spinning himself around lazily, as the other man grumbled and complained.

"You're such a _control freak_ ," he moaned. Sam was forcing him to re-organise the essays he'd marked over the weekend, because there was no order to them whatsoever. 

"Neat," Sam corrected, a smile colouring his voice. "And you're messy. Which is _your_ problem." 

Gabriel sent a well-aimed kick at his leg, sending a laughing Sam flying across the room. "I'm relaxed!"

 "You're so laid-back you're practically horizontal," Sam quipped, using his new spot across the room to check another stack of marked papers. 

Gabriel pulled a face. "Can't say I haven't heard that one before, kiddo."

"There's a story there," Sam glanced sideways at him, wondering if he'd overstepped. 

"Nah," Gabriel shook his head. "Reason why my ex dumped me, though. And why my little brother despairs of me."

Ex. Sam didn't like the word when it came from Gabriel, but he tried to push the discomfort away. He didn't care _that_ much. "You have a little brother?"

"Unfortunately," Gabriel replied, before laughing. "No, I love him. Don't see him enough."

Understanding completely, Sam nodded. "Me and my big brother are like that, as well." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "don't love him, though." He was rewarded with a snort from Gabriel. 

"He's like you?" 

"God, no." The idea both horrified and amused Sam. "No, no, no. Messy. Loves junk food. Mechanic. Drives me insane half the time. You'd love him, I bet."

Gabriel considered for a moment, tilting his head to the side. "I think I'll still prefer the younger Winchester, y'know." Blushing, Sam caught his eye, and they smiled at each other for a moment. 

* * *

 Jo and Sam were moderating marks together on Friday after school when Gabriel burst in, carrying a cardboard box bigger than him. Rolling his eyes, Sam jumped up to take it from him, lifting it as if it was nothing. 

"What on earth is in this thing?" He carried it to a spare table, peering over the sides to see an array of folders, and various other little personal things. Gabriel shot him a weird look, and even Jo was looking at him a little funny. "What? Am I missing something?"

"It's my last day," Gabriel explained. "I'm off, kiddo. That's my stuff." For a moment, it felt like Sam had been punched in the gut: he'd completely forgotten that Gabriel wasn't, in fact, a permanent fixture. "I just came to say goodbye." His usual smile was still in place, but now it was tinged with sadness.

Sam forced himself to smile, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe himself. "Oh, of course. It went quickly." 

"It has," Jo agreed, getting up to wrap Gabriel in a tight hug. Sam had an absurd rush of jealousy. "I'm gonna miss you, man! Coffee soon?"

Gabriel nodded, reaching up on his tiptoes to ruffle her hair affectionately. "I'll text you or something when I'm in town?"

"Or out of it," Jo shrugged, putting her hands over her heart. "Anythin' fer you, milord." Sam shook his head as they fell into Games of Thrones dialect, standing awkwardly on the sidelines. He wasn't sure what the etiquette for this kind of situation was. A man hug seemed stupid, but a handshake too formal. He needn't have worried, though. It _was_ Gabriel he was thinking about, after all.

"Bye, Sammy!" Gabriel launched himself at him, almost hanging off the floor with how high he had to stretch to wrap his arms around his neck. Sam laughed, but he wrapped his arms around the smaller man easily. Gabriel smelled of mints and toffee and aftershave and _warmth_ ; it was completely intoxicating, and Sam forgot to breathe for a moment. 

"Yeah," he said eventually, then could've kicked himself. "I mean, in touch keep." 

Letting go, Gabriel shot him that grin again, his eyes almost golden in the light. "I touch I shall keep, kiddo." He started tapping at Sam's phone, which Sam realised belatedly he must've stolen during the hug. Gabriel returned it happily. "Text me later, yeah?" Though Sam offered to carry his box down to his car, Gabriel refused, and gave a final salute to the pair of them before stumbling out.

"He was a better Garth replacement than Garth," Jo mourned.

Sam laughed. "It'll be good to have him back, though."

"Save it, lover boy."

* * *

 Over the next couple of weeks, Sam became more and more subdued, and introverted. Whereas before he just didn't care about relationships, now he actively sought to keep himself away from any possible suitors, and anyone already in one. This basically meant he locked himself away in his little apartment, and sulked. Over the next couple of weeks. 

At school, he was in a permanent bad mood, no matter how many ridiculous things Jo came out with, and how many times Garth attempted to psychoanalyse him with Mr Fizzles, his sock puppet (and, probably, best friend). Too many times, he came in, expecting to see a coffee, and scribbled note resting on his desk, and too many times, his heart sunk at the emptiness that awaited. He realised quickly that it was a long way down when your hopes were high as mountains, and when you hit the ground, it _hurt_.

Sure, he had Gabriel's number saved in his phone, but that didn't mean he could just text him out of the blue. He'd left it far too long, by that point, anyway, and he couldn't find the words in the first few days after he'd gone. Once, Dean had caught him staring at the blank screen that came up when he tapped 'Text' underneath Gabriel's name, and since then, his stupid big brother had chalked his 'PMS' down to 'guy problems'. 

More than anything, Sam was annoyed at himself for being so pathetic: this was exactly why he didn't bother with relationships, and Gabriel obviously wasn't the one he'd been waiting for, because he was gone. It hadn't even been more than harmless flirting, and from the way Sam was acting, it was like they'd been through a serious break up. He was bitter, and all the Christmas cheer did nothing to help.

* * *

 Every year, Sam spent Christmas with Dean, and even with the addition of Cas, this didn’t change. Instead of it just being the three of them, Cas was absolutely adamant that his entire family should be invited, and considering he asked for so little, Dean just couldn’t say no, even when everyone knew what would happen. The whole debacle turned out to be lot more trouble than it was worth - the high streets had been bustling with late-minute shoppers, and Sam had had the nightmare of choosing a present for Castiel's family, just to be polite. He'd eventually settled on a big box of chocolates, secretly thinking about how much Gabriel would've loved them. 

When he arrived, Cas was the one to usher him in, muttering something about 'Dean being ridiculous', which didn't really surprise Sam in the slightest. The house was warm, smelling of chocolate and candy, and fairy lights were drapped everywhere, random streamers and paper chains hanging across walls. It was messy and made Sam's internal control freak want to cry, but Castiel looked happier than ever as he guided Sam through to the kitchen. When Dean caught sight of his little brother, he deflated in relief, but soon returned to looking like he was about to be sick.

"Please relax, Dean," Castiel looked at him with reproachful eyes, but Dean just shook his head.

“Uh, who’s coming?” Sam asked, when it became clear that Dean wasn't going to reply. 

Castiel tilted his head to the side. "My father, three big brothers, and my big sister." 

"Wow," Sam raised his eyebrows and whistled, and Dean shot him a look that made it clear that he wasn't helping. 

"Yes," Castiel replied gravely. "I--" 

"Would you both shut up?" Dean exploded thunderously, throwing his hands up in the air. "Jesus Christ, I can't even--" He trailed off as Castiel stepped in front of him, and grabbed both his hands.

They stared into each other's eyes long enough for Sam to start to feel uncomfortable before Castiel whispered. "Calm down. You're perfect. It's fine." 

"Okay," Dean replied, just as quietly. Both of them had forgotten Sam was in the room, and he was grateful when the door bell went off. The pair of them went to answer it together, while Sam lounged against the counter, fairly relaxed. 

A tall, auburn-haired girl was the first to join him, shaking snow from her fire-kissed hair. She smiled kindly when she saw Sam, and extended her hand courteously.

"I'm Anna," she introduced herself. "Cas' big sister. It's nice to meet you." She had a gentle, melodic voice, and Sam shook her hand firmly. 

"Sam," he said. "Dean's little brother, and yourself." 

They were saved from the awkward business of making small talk by the arrival of a man not much younger than Sam with sandy-blonde hair. 

"Balthazar," he said, after the obligatory handshake. "Good to meet you." 

Next was a stern-faced, greying man - Michael, Cas' dad - and after that came Luke (full name Lucifer), and a spot-ridden teenager called Samandriel, who didn't seem like he knew quite what to do with himself. They both introduced themselves politely, and Sam noted that all of Castiel's family seemed mild, and well-mannered, just like Cas himself. A few weeks ago, he would've loved this - wished it for his own family, even - but now he just wanted Gabriel beside him. Ridiculous, loud, inappropriate Gabriel. Who would've thought?

The final straw had to be the Jonathan Ross joke. 

They were all sat around the dinner table on Christmas day, presents having been exchanged, and stomachs ready to burst, when it just came out nowhere. “I’ve heard that Jonathan Ross only goes to rugby matches to play pranks on people, apparently.” 

Dean looked at him, incredibly confused as to why his quiet, studious little brother was trying to make jokes, but the Miltons all made appropriately surprised noises, waiting for him to go on. 

“Yeah,” he said, by now wondering what on earth he was going on about. “He loves Twickenham.”

Everyone laughed, but Sam’s holiday cheer was completely gone, and all he could think about was how much he wished Gabriel had been sitting next to him, imagining how hard he would’ve laughed at Sam of all people stealing his awful jokes. After that, he had to excuse himself to sit in his room for a while, and wonder where his life went.

* * *

New Year’s was predictably awful, with Cas and Dean offering, definitely out of pity, to have him over for the night. He declined, preferring not to see his brother with a tongue down his throat, pretending he’d been invited to a party so he didn’t hurt Castiel’s feelings. He hadn’t, of course, and Jo had a boyfriend of her own to entertain. If he hadn’t been so bitter over it all, he might’ve asked Garth over, but as it was, he didn’t think he could stand a night of Mr Fizzles. 

Instead, he chose to get wonderfully, incredibly drunk, and shout things at the television, though fully aware they couldn’t hear him in there. He may even have sung along at some point, but that was something he definitely didn’t want to remember. 

Unfortunately, the whiskey had not only rid him of his dignity, but his hesitancy too. 

“Gabe,” he slurred, to the answer machine that awaited when he finally tapped ‘call’. “Like the archangel. Huh. It’s Sam. Just Sam. Happy Christmas. Merry New Year. I miss you.  I made a Jonathan Ross joke.” He couldn’t remember anything he’d said after that, or maybe there wasn’t anything, but it didn’t stop the stab of disappointment every time he checked his phone to absolutely nothing in reply. Despite regretting it massively, and wanting to punch himself in the face, there’d still been a tiny part of him (around his little toe), that’d hoped that his drunken mistake was just what had been needed to bring Gabriel back into his life.

* * *

 On the first day of the new term, everything went wrong. Anything that could’ve somehow not worked, didn’t. 

He awoke to find that the radiator had gone off overnight, meaning the clothes he’d left to dry, intending to to wear that day, were still sodden, and he had to dig around in his wardrobe to find another clean shirt. However, when he’d gone to iron it, one of the legs of the ironing board snapped off, and when he finally found another suitable surface, he found that the iron itself wouldn’t heat up. He spilt his coffee down his shirt, and, since he didn’t have another wearable one, had to shove a jumper on to cover a stain that didn’t fit him right. 

And so the morning continued. When he finally sat himself down in the driver’s seat, he swore at the time - it had been vitally important that he was early, and now he wasn’t even going to make it on time. He sped down the motorway, cursing at anyone that had the audacity to drive within the speed limits; who even did that, these days?

There were already two cars parked when he pulled up, and he found himself running for the first time in years up to the history block, praying he wasn’t too late. Flinging the door open, caring nothing for subtlety any more, he let out a huge sigh of relief. 

Sam stared at him, eyes drinking in the misfitting sweater and odd pair of shoes, expression inscrutable. When he finally made his way up to Gabriel’s eyes, he just gazed. “You never returned my call.”

Gabriel made a noise that was caught between frustration and laughter and spluttering. “You made a Jonathan Ross joke.” 

Before Sam could reply, Gabriel was running across the room, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s neck to pull him down into a kiss. It was soft and sweet and gentle and awkward and kind of unexpected, summing up their relationship thus far. 

When they finally pulled apart, Gabriel’s grin was in place. “A Jonathan Ross joke, though, really? Of all the humour you could start with--“

“Oh, God, _shut up_ ,” Sam silenced him with another kiss, and for once, Gabriel couldn’t complain.

* * *

 Years later, they would joke that Jonathan Ross had gotten them together; Sam even emailed his agent asking if he could be his best man (he couldn’t, and Gabriel had held a grudge against him ever since). When she found out, Jo had asked if she could introduce a new subject - the History of Sabriel (she couldn’t, but Gabriel had dubbed her captain of team Sabriel). Dean had just congratulated Sam on finally getting laid, asking if he’d need to give him the talk (he didn’t, but Sam found it so unamsing that it was no wonder why he and Gabriel hit it off straight away).

And when Gabriel stood up to give his speech at their wedding, Sam had immediately groaned, wondering how many guests were going to be offended. He hadn’t forgotten when they first sat down with their planner, and Gabriel had said, very seriously, that if there weren’t at least three deaths, it would be a dull affair - it had taken Sam at least twenty minutes to explain that if his fiancee was half as funny as he _though_ t he was, he’d still be twice as funny as he _actually_ was. 

“It might surprise you to know that I don’t have much to say,” Gabriel started, to many snorts and titters from the people in the crowd. “But I was just wondering if they ever caught that thief.” Surprised, Sam glared at him. He couldn’t believe that, of all the times to question the police’s efficiency, his husband (God help him) had chosen now. “You know, the one who stole the stars, and put them in your eyes.” It was stupid and corny and ridiculous, but it was sweet and funny and cute at the same time, and Sam didn’t know whether to laugh or cry - Jo, sat in her maid of honour dress, did both.

Sam left for work just after Gabriel, too, and he smiled when he saw the coffee waiting for him in the kitchen, with a note beside it. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but ‘ _My love for you is like diarrhoea. I just can’t hold it in. LOVE YOU XXX_ ’ wasn’t quite it.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a pain, and i'm notoriously bad at proof-reading so i'm sorry for any mistakes i've missed! i think i re-wrote the ending at least five times, so i'm just glad it's finished. apologies for the terrible summary also seem in order, so i'm sorry. hope it was alright!


End file.
